


unmade

by brostucky (orphan_account)



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Coming Untouched, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, some feels crept in idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7896208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/brostucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts like it always does—hushed words whispered between breaths. "Yes or no?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	unmade

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in this fandom, so let me know what you think.
> 
> Part of my self-made writing challenge of a 1k prompt based off the title word.

It starts like it always does—hushed words whispered between breaths. "Yes or no?"

Yes. Yes, yes, yes, until there's no more air to speak, Neil’s lungs exhausted, but he always finds air anyway. "I'll never say no to you."

He waits for the catty comment, but all that comes is hot lips to his, teeth and tongue almost savage. It's a battle, a war, a desecration, leaving him torn apart, jagged at the edges, unraveling in Andrew's steady hands. Piece by piece, kiss by kiss, hotter and hotter until he's burning on the inside, the fire within igniting with every heady breath of oxygen he takes in like a drag of a cigarette. Deep, aching, trembling. 

His body is not his own when he's pushed down onto the bed, given completely over to the man above him, over him, surrounding him. His solid frame weighs Neil down like an anchor, like a tether. Andrew is the tide, and Neil's drowning in him. Clever fingers find their way, skin on skin, feeling up over the form of hips and abs and pecs. Andrew places his palm over Neil's palpitating heart, strong, fast, loud—a mark of living—before he's peeling the shirt from Neil's skin, eyes barely glancing over old scars and new bruises. Andrew's still the only one who sees through him just to really _see_ him. Neil shivers as hazel eyes drag over his skin, Andrew’s fingers trailing after. 

"Still yes?" Words breathed against his hip bone. A nod, assent, assurance. Anticipation heavy in his stomach when Andrew’s knuckles ghost over his skin, working down the fly of Neil's shorts. Hands, hot and rough—perfect; touching him like they can map his body, building him up in waves, until he's dragged into the undertow. His world tilts; his head spins. He's flipped onto his front almost viciously. Andrew's nails dig into his skin like daggers, like Neil's body is a canvas and Andrew wants nothing more than to ruin that perfect stretch of white. 

Hips against his ass, hot, heavy, hard—rocking like ships in the night, the two of them stuck in this storm that's consuming every inch of them, sweat slicked skin sliding against similar exterior. Warm kisses. Hot breath. Andrew drags his mouth over Neil's spine like he can strip Neil down to his skeleton, like he can crawl inside his skin, like he can pick through his sinew, mold him back to clay. Panting, Neil clutches at the sheets, turns his face into Andrew's pillow. Pants disappear somewhere between the bed and the floor, and he's left bare, uncovered, while every brush of Andrew's still clothed body makes him shiver anew. 

Finally, Andrew stops. To breathe, to look, to think. One more time. 

"Yes," hands slide down to cup Neil’s ass, squeeze, part. A thumb ghosts over where Neil wants him most. Sharp inhale. A shiver. "Or no?"

Neil stops himself from saying please, begging anything, want a hot curl under his skin, making his blood boil. He says something, anything that isn't no, and Andrew digs his strong fingers into Neil's ass. He imagines bruises blooming like little fingertip flowers over his skin, Neil becoming living artwork, a garden that lives and thrives for every touch of Andrew on his skin. He bites his lip. 

And then Andrew licks at him—hot, strange, wet—wonderful. Like a cat with cream, small, short, steady—circling sensitive skin just to get a feel for it. Then he moves in closer, presses firmer, and Neil bites at Andrew’s pillow, trapping the fabric between his teeth, biting down on the cotton flesh like he could tear it apart. The devil’s in his tongue, working inside of him, corrupting him, ruining him for anything else but the feeling of Andrew’s lips and tongue in tandem.

The feeling steals his breath, traps it beneath his ribs like a small, fluttering creature. Andrew goes deeper, tastes him at his core, pulls away to scrape his teeth everywhere he can reach, then goes back to working Neil apart. It’s amazing and overwhelming and exhausting, every inch of his body lit up like the end of a cigarette; he’s aflame, burning in an inferno of too much, too hot, too good— _Andrew_.

Hot breath expels over his wet and open body, Andrew huffing at the name-shaped whine that escaped from Neil’s throat. Thumbs spread him wider, and Neil wonders fleetingly what he looks like to Andrew—thinks of one day seeing Andrew the same way, if he’ll let him. Thinks of showing Andrew how good this feels, thinks to maybe tell him after—and then there’s wet heat again, Andrew’s skillful mouth decimating Neil until the world narrows down to the feel of cotton between his teeth and Andrew’s tongue hitting all the right spots in his ass.

He feels the rumble of Andrew’s voice before the words reach his ears. “Let go.”

But Andrew doesn’t know that Neil’s only holding on by a thread, that he’s only slightly tethered to reality, mind and body warring, both so far away—blurry brain, burning body. Dragged back down by small circles Andrew’s smoothing into his skin.

Built up to such new heights. He shakes, trembles like a quake. Tries to quell the rising tide, but it’s no match for the volcano within. Strong hands, soft lips, cruel tongue. Tearing him apart to build him up to this—

He shatters; breaks. Falls apart in crippling starts like a storm, like gales that destroy everything in their wake—falling so fast. Everything overwhelms him. He’s burning up, shedding his skin to make way for this new feeling inside of him.

Unmade completely.

But then Andrew’s there, hands steady—so steady—holding him. Holding him close, reshaping him into a better version of himself. Of them, together. Catching Neil like he always knows Andrew will. Neil’s hands finally find Andrew’s skin—hot, hard—and then he’s coming, too. Complete. Undone. Remade.

Each unraveling just to intertwine.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://bettingfoxes.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Kudos and comments are accepted and appreciated.


End file.
